Although her first attempt was weak, Claire didn’t quit. She pictured her cell, the cement block walls, and sparse furnishings. She tried again. This time she felt the sound begin in her diaphragm, travel up her throat, and explode through her lips.
Without thinking she felt the smile creep onto her face. Despite the memories, the outlet filled her with hope. When had she last screamed? Really screamed? There were plenty of opportunities, but she’d never done it.
Feeling the release, from her toes to her eyebrows, Claire scrunched her eyes tighter and gave the scream one more try. This one lasted longer, going on and on. Her eventual silence came only due to the deflation of her lungs. Nevertheless, once they inflated again, the sound morphed to a giggle, starting as a lonely chuckle and propagating. By the time she opened her eyes, tears leaked from her lids, not from sadness, but from the rush of release.
Harry tried to maintain his focus on the highway. There were other cars as well as big trucks. The lack of roof made the rush of wind and sound so much louder than it’d be normally. However, the woman beside him filled him with awe. When he’d said to scream, he never expected her to take him up on it. But there she was head back, emerald eyes hidden behind lids and sunglasses, with her mouth open wide.
His peripheral vision refused to release her image, even for one second. The second scream was louder. The third was beyond belief. For a moment he thought about Claire in a prison cell. In that instant his chest filled with angst for her plight. Yet, that thought was but a flash. Claire started to laugh. Yes, Harry couldn’t believe his ears. Her chuckle grew becoming infectious. His expression of disbelief changed, as if his lips started at below zero and within seconds became zero and soon forty-five degrees. When she finally opened her eyes, he couldn’t contain his own laughter.
Never could he remember feeling the admiration for someone he currently felt for Claire Nichols. How could anyone let her go?
At that second, Harry realized, no one could. Anthony Rawlings would never let her go. If Claire were to be part of his life, so would Anthony Rawlings. He forced a smile and glanced toward her hidden eyes.
Claire’s voice transcended the rush of air, “Thank you. I really do like the car and the drive.”
“You’re very welcome, anytime.”
With her cheeks still raised and her lips turned upward, she moved her glance to the right. He thought about the woman who arrived at Amber’s apartment; would that woman have screamed at the top of her lungs, on highway 5-N? Would she have joined him in their activities over the last two days? Harry wasn’t sure. He knew the petite brunette at his side was a mass of contrary emotions and actions. Beyond anything, he longed to explore every one of them.
Claire glanced back at Harry as he suggested, “I know this great place in Oceanside for Sunday brunch. Are you up for stopping on our way to Santa Monica?”
“Yes, it sounds great.”
All secrets are deep. All secrets become dark.
That’s in the nature of secrets.
- Cory Doctorow
Chapter 28
With the wind in her hair, Claire’s thoughts disappeared into the ribbon of white sand and rolling waves. She watched as a few lone souls, in wetsuits, walked the shore carrying surfboards in search of the perfect wave. The table she shared with Harry at the Beach Break Cafe was covered by a blue umbrella. Under that same table, Claire’s sandaled feet rested upon a carpet of sand. Inhaling the salty surf she relished the perfect atmosphere for Sunday brunch and sipped her coffee.
Harry remained uncharacteristically quiet as Clair enjoyed the glowing vista. The glistening sun reflected off the waves creating silver caps rolling upon the turquoise blue ocean. Wistfully she remembered other sandy beaches. She loved the soft gritty sensation as she wiggled her sand covered toes under her chair.
After the waitress refilled their cups of coffee, Harry’s soft voice penetrated the sounds of the sea, “If this is too difficult for you, I can go to Patrick Chester’s house alone. I’ll just call and reschedule.”
Claire looked up. Despite his concerned expression, it was his long unruly blonde hair moving in the ocean breeze that made her smile. Only once had she seen it controlled, the night they’d met at the restaurant and he’d used gel. She remembered he’d also worn a jacket, a sexy look, but not as sexy as his jeans and well-fitting t-shirts.
“No, I can do this. Honestly, I haven’t allowed myself to think much about it. I guess I’m torn.” Harry lifted his brows, and Claire clarified, “I’m curious, but apprehensive. The police reports were upsetting. I’m not sure I want to hear more gory details.”
“That’s not why we’re going to see him.”
Claire listened.
“I asked a friend, who works at SiJo, to help me with research.”